“They got Pinky!" I was calling out to my husband after turning on the radio to news that Bhuto had been assassinated. No, we’re not among the seeming hundreds who have been writing about their personal relationships with her. We encountered her just once, in 1989. She was giving a commencement address and receiving an honorary LLD. Harvard was welcoming her home, with fond memories of the days when she’d been known to all there as Pinky.
Public figures die all the time. Political leaders are assassinated. I had to understand why this feels so different to me.
But. Girls. Women. My emotional wiring may never adjust. No matter that it’s been decades. Over 20 years ago Indira Gandhi was gunned down. (Her son took her place, and shared her fate.) Women have been in combat now for years. And I’m still not armored against these realities.
Thirty years on, young women soldiers lose limbs to IEDs and female aspirants to power--no matter how small and fragile--are shot. I understand. It’s just this mom thing that roars up in me and yells No! as I dive to snatch them all out of harm’s way. The girls. The boys. All of them, when their wild and precious lives are at risk.
Postscript: Pinky’s son has stepped into her shoes. Her boy. All of 19. Like so many a soldier—vulnerable, scared, brave. Oh damn. Somebody please be sure that kid has a first-rate security team.
Ann Medlock founded the Giraffe Heroes Project, a nonprofit that honors people who stick their necks out for the common good and nudges others to follow their example. Her work history includes being a DNC staff writer (fired), speechwriter to the Aga Khan (fascinating) and editing Viet Nam Presse in Diem-era Saigon (scary). She blogs at www.annmedlock.com, www.giraffe.org, & huffington as well as OpEdNews.